


Highlight

by hansolmates



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: College AU, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Identity-Reveal, Implied Romance, Multi, Peter Parker being a lil squish, Reader-Insert, Secret Identity, Spider Man loves cakepops, University AU, dun dun dun, iClickers are the bane of college, the BSOD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-27
Updated: 2018-05-27
Packaged: 2019-05-14 08:25:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14766036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hansolmates/pseuds/hansolmates
Summary: Astronomy class features all the stars, including Peter Parker. Cross-Posted on tumblr @hansolmates for starksparker's 4k writing challenge: college!au





	Highlight

**Author's Note:**

  * For [starksparker](https://archiveofourown.org/users/starksparker/gifts).



Maybe it’s the thrill of cramming grossly long papers twelve hours before their due date, or the lack of motivation to do anything when  _everything_  is due within the same time frame, but for you it culminates to this one, agonizing moment.

The Blue Screen of Death.

As your gaming cousin so aptly calls it the  _BSOD_ , you always laughed whenever they would scream at their PC in combined horror and agitation when their game would be cut short. Karma was real.

But at this moment, it cannot be real. It isn’t real, you will not allow it. You stare at the BSOD, eyebrows twitching and eyes squinting, knowing this wasn’t possible. It’s simultaneously too early in the morning and too late at night for this kind of bullshit. But the bright blue screen was glaring back at you, mocking you.

How could you explain this to your professor, that the star map that you had two weeks to create, suddenly obliterates six hours within the due date?

“Fuck me,” you mutter under your breath, jabbing the mouse fervently, “Fuck me with a fuckin’ wooden ladle this can’t be fuckin’ happening.”

Your loosen the tension in your neck, letting your forehead fall to the table. You close your eyes and calculate all possible solutions (excuses) to tell your professor in an apologetic email.

“Um, maybe I can help?”

You flip your head around, laying your cheek against the table to face your neighbor. The lab was packed around ten, but as it got later the room’s population dwindled, leaving you, the IT, a girl in the corner watching Naruto (the filler arcs, lame) and this guy.

A cute guy. Prep meets nerd if you want to be stereotypical, pulling off a crinkled yellow flannel over a purple university crewneck. His hair is tousled into sweet, milk chocolate ringlets, pushed with care to one side to show his eyes. They were also brown. You don’t mean to jump the gun and romantice the normalcy of brown eyes, they had a spark in them, the one that normally leaves students after high school.

“I’m, uh, used to the BSOD.” He laughs nervously, as if this abomination on your screen is an old friend. “And I don’t want you to have any issues with a wooden ladle because that seems  _so_  uncomfortable and could you imagine the chafing? I can recover it for you, if you want of course, I know it’s random since we haven’t really talked ever–”

“Oh, shit, yes please!” You snap up, pulling the armrest of his chair to switch places. A “woah” escapes his lips, but he instantly recovers and his hands fly to the keyboard, typing like rapidfire.

You’re amazed at how well he handles the computer, like an extension of him. He gets to work immediately, and you’re incredibly thankful for this bumbling boy. “So, hardcore gamer?” You ask casually, peeking over his shoulder.

“When I was a kid,” he shrugs, concentration not even remotely broken as he toggles with some foreign language on the screen. “But when I was in high school, I did a lot of digging around. Used to fish in the dumpsters after school, digging for parts for my tech. Had to make my own equipment because my computers could barely keep up with my work.”

“Shit,” you mutter under your breath, “Major?”

“Biochem,” he says shortly, “And mechanical engineering.”

“Damn, sit the fuck down.” You half-joke, and he chuckles.

“Don’t think it’s possible.” he smiles tightly, the tip of his tongue poking out from the corner of his mouth. You try not to stare. “I’m Peter, by the way.”

“Peter Parker?”

“You know me?”

“Lucky guess,” you reply bashfully, backing away to collapse further in your chair. “Your name’s always at the top of the iClicker quizzes during astro.” You offer up your name, although you figure he wouldn’t recognize it anyway because out of your class of two-hundred and two, you’re always ranked in the hard middle during iClicker time. But he smiles and says it's nice to meet you, and continues attacking the BSOD.

In no less than five minutes does the blue screen evaporate, and in a blink it turns back to your finished draft of your astronomy project. You let out a squeal of happiness, shaking his shoulders and bouncing in your seat. “I love you so much right now!” You swear that your eyes are watering, you can’t believe he got it back up!

“It’s no big deal, you just have to correct the BIOS settings and then reformat the disk. And the school has a good recovery system in place.” He replies shyly, turning away from you. You don’t blame him, you’re probably looking at him like he’s Iron Man, the intellectual talk is lowkey impressing you. “The Siminian Galaxy, interesting choice.” He says with piqued interest, your computer generated markup reflecting in his face.

“Yeah, I heard interesting things about the species there, so I thought why not.”

Peter shrugs, “Aliens are just like us. They have tech, good guys and bad guys.” 

“You think so?”

“More or less,” his watch beeps, and to your amusement it’s one of those novelty watches you get at GameStop, decorated with the former Captain America shield on the face. “I uh, I gotta go!”

You ignore the little pang in your chest as you watch him haphazardly throw all his supplies in his tan Jansport, just when you thought you could know a little more about the adorable future scientist, he’s off to do greater things than helping random classmates like saving the world from mass destruction with his mad science, or whatever.

“I owe you one, Peter!” you add, “if you want a coffee or a tea after class sometime, I’ll spot you.”

It briefly stops him from his reverie, and your heart does a little jolt at the way his face glows, mouth parted open like a kitten.

“C-coffee?” He points to himself, as if you couldn’t be possibly asking him out. He hikes his bag over his shoulder, already halfway out the lab. “Yeah, yeah! Yeah definitely, coffee is totally cool. I’ll see you then! You should head home soon, it’s like, one in the morning. Good night!”

* * *

Unbeknownst to Peter’s word, you stay at the lab a little longer, mildly distracted from the memory of his pretty brown curls and warm kindness. His help cannot be in vain, you have to make sure that your half-assed Siminian Galaxy is at the very least, quarter-assed. You submit your assignment once your eyes feel like burnt toast and your hands are numb from typing. You’re officially the last non-employee to leave the computer lab, setting a new record for procrastination.  

The campus is a faint glow in comparison to the city lights, little splotches of light twinkling from lamp to lamp. Your bus stop’s a quarter mile of the way, the walk feeling a hell of a lot longer compared to the daytime. This part of the city certainly isn’t 25/8 compared to Manhattan, making it significantly creepier to walk around at night.

 _Beep. Beep._  Your stance hardens, clinging on your backpack straps for dear life as you spot someone with a black ski mask tampering with a local convenience store ATM. The store is at the tail end of your block, and you’re not far from it. The tinkling of the glass makes you twitch in a bundle of nerves, a hammer in the burglar’s hands as he attempts to force the ATM open. Willing your heart to cease its heavy pounding in your ears, you take a breath. Slowly, you exhale, pulling out your phone.

“Watch out!”

You don’t even have a chance to hit call when the burglar is flung across the brick wall, a sticky substance melding onto their body. There’s a rush of wind and a blur of scarlet and navy spandex, coupled with gold accents sparkling against the joints. The burglar had no chance whatsoever against the superhero, not even having a breath to yell before their mouth is webbed shut.

This wasn’t the first time you’ve seen Spider-Man, but it’s definitely the first time he’s spoken to you. You’ve seen him occasionally doing the thing, the thing where he webs from building the building like midtown’s his jungle gym. Here he’s doing work, almost mindlessly bounding the criminal even tighter like rain and routine.

“Hey! Anyone ever tell you shouldn’t be walking around alone late at night?” he looks over his shoulder, squinting his bug eyes at you.

“Could say the same for you, Spider-Man.” You reply evenly, eyeing the bound burglar before stepping closer.

“Well that’s  _different_. I have like, powers and stuff. And I go around late at night to protect people like you.” He nags you with the superhero 101 jargon, waving his arms around like one of your professors. He snatches an old flyer tacked onto the store window, “Have ya got a pen I can borrow?”

Stupefied, you rip open the front zipper of your backpack, handing him a blue highlighter.

He says his thanks, capping off the highlighter and writing on the back of the flyer.

_Breaking and entering, tampering with an ATM at around 2AM. You’re welcome! -Spider-Man_

He tacks the flyer atop the burglar’s head, then flicks the highlighter back to you. You smile at the turquoise all-caps scrawl with no abbreviations, finding it incredibly genuine. “So, another job well done, Spidey.” You say, tucking your returned highlighter in your jacket. You start walking, “I’ll be heading home now, good night!”

“Wait!” You raise a brow as Spider-Man jogs up to you in no time at all, falling into your steps. “Do you uh, need me to walk you home? Like I said it’s pretty late, no one should be walking out without a buddy.”

You giggle at at his attempt at reviving the old-school buddy system, but shake your head. “I’m taking a bus home and it should be coming soon.”

“Then, can I wait for you until your bus comes?”

You decide you don’t have much of a choice, you probably being part of Spider-Man’s self-fulfilling hero duties.. You ask him all the usual questions, the web shooters and how they work, and you’re left in awe when you find out that he made his own web formula. He’s eager to answer you, and you know he’s probably been asked this a million times, but the lift in his voice implies that he sincerely loves talking about the chemistry of his work.

“You’re a cool dude, Spidey.” Your bus begins to pull up, and you send him a soft smile. “It was nice to meet you.”

“Same here! I don’t really have much time to talk to people uh, my age. I mean I have my friends but I’m always working with Mr. Stark or sometimes even Dr. Banner.” His voice is light, like it’s been awhile since he’s had a heart-to-heart, albeit an unconventional one with a mere stranger caught up in his nightly rounds.

If there’s any vulnerability to his words, you don’t push it. He just implied that you two are the same age, which intrigues you more, but it's probably more or less a slip of information he doesn’t normally tell.

“I don’t know how you work so much, I still have to do more work and I wanna pass out.” you sigh dramatically, hearing the little  _shh_  sound of the bus doors opening. “Like, my astro professor is nuts. Not only does he want a big galaxy project due in the morning, but we also have a midterm when we get to class tomorrow.” You smile wryly, gauging his reaction behind the mask. He must think you have no idea what he’s been through as you’re talking about mundane student problems, but regardless he seems attentive. “Swing safely, Spidey. Thanks again for saving the day as always!”

He waves in response, looking comically adorable as he waits for your bus to drive you home. It’s funny, having Spider-Man wave goodbye to you like a mother sending off their child.

You don’t turn back around, but you swear you hear him cry in surprise as the doors close behind you: “Shit, we have an exam tomorrow?”

* * *

Following your exam, Peter stops coming to Astronomy. His name no longer shows up on the roster after iClicker quizzes, the number one spot now interchangeable between Michelle Jones and Ned Leeds (Michelle Jones more often than not). You imagine Peter’s off doing something cool, or even sleeping because this class is probably a breeze for him. You’re embarrassed by the fact that Peter’s still on your mind after two whole weeks of classes, but he really did leave a mark on you in the lab, brown eyes and all.

You’re still beating yourself over not being quick enough when he helped you that one night. You asked him out and failed to exchange numbers, what a genius you are. The fact that he also wasn’t showing up to astro deterred you even more.

Tonight you feel absolutely fried, your eyes stinging from the glow of the lab and your butt sore from being in the same position for five hours. You just finished a major research paper at the lab, and in record time. It hasn’t hit eleven, you’ve been trying to avoid leaving past twelve in lieu of that one night by the convenience store. As cool as it was to converse with Spider-Man, it wasn’t worth risking your safety.

Now you’re treating yourself with your favorite drink at Starbucks and a movie once you get home, pushing off your other assignments to tomorrow. You place your order, shoving your hands in your ESU hoodie as you wait at the pick up station.

“Can I have the biggest caramel iced coffee you got?” The person after you asks, “Oh, and one of those cake pops please? Actually, make that two!”

You turn your head briefly to the register, and you swallow your gasp.

_No fucking way._

Spider-Man is ordering fucking cake pops at Starbucks. The spandex is unmistakable, even more so that you and him are the only customers in the shop. Of all the mundane things you could be doing at this hour, you’re watching Spider-Man out on his five-minute break.

“Hey there!” He raises a gloved hand once he spots you, a folded paper bag in hand.

You point to yourself, and you hear him giggle (he actually giggles) and his faux-eyes crinkle up. “You remember me?” You ask in surprise, your jaw probably stuck to the floor.

“Of course I do! ATM and nutty astro professor.” He pulls out a confection out of his bag, putting it it in front of your face. “Cake pop?”

With a wry grin, you accept the petal pink dessert. “I can’t wait to tell my mom that Spider-Man offered me a cake pop.”

“Well, tell your mom I said hello.” And he pulls out the second cake pop, with the same hand thumbing off his mask to make room for his mouth.

You’re staring. His mask is partly off and you’re terribly curious, stopping right above his cupid’s bow so he can shovel the whole confection. The barista calls your name and saves you from having to explain yourself, and you quickly snatch your drink from the counter, busying yourself up with putting on the straw. “Nice seeing you, Spidey.” You say, ready to bolt out of here.

“Whaih ah min, whaih uhp!” Your brows furrow when he grabs up his large iced coffee with an unhealthy amount of caramel drizzled on the cup, following you out the door. He downs the rest of his cake pop with a hard swallow, his Adam’s apple bobbing with it. “It’s late, you shouldn’t be walking out alone.”

“Not as late as last time.” You reply innocently.

“But still,” he chastises, flipping the mask back on, “it’s a slow day for crime, let me walk you home.”

You could say that your bus was going to arrive and it was completely unnecessary, but you just submitted the research paper of your life and you’ve cleared your schedule for the night. You decide it’s okay to be selfish and let Spider-Man walk you down the couple blocks.

You two walk the first block in a comfortable silence, with Spider-Man taking sips of his drink with every flip on/off of the mask, and you checking your emails for any assignment updates. “It’s kind of ironic, actually.” You mutter to yourself, kicking a stray stone in  your path.

“What’s ironic?” Spider-Man asks.

“You don’t want to know my stupid boy drama.” You shake your head, “It’s not even boy drama to be honest, just me overthinking.”

“Try me. Not only am I an offerer of cake pops, but I am a good listener.”  

There was an appeal to let out all your trivial frustration to Spider-Man, who is practically a stranger. The fun thing about talking to strangers, is that they have no vendetta against you, practically a clean slate where you can be completely honest.

“Okay, you asked for it.” You shrug, twirling the emerald straw of your drink. “I kinda have a crush on this guy. It feels so weird, he’s been in my class all semester and I’ve never really noticed him and now that I’ve met him, I can’t stop trying to find him! He hasn’t been showing up to class recently, and it’s freaking me out. Especially because the night we met I asked him out for coffee, and I thought he was into it until he ran out and we didn’t have a chance to exchange numbers.” You glower into your cup, “And it’s ironic because of all things, I’m having coffee with Spider-Man,” you gesture wildly to your walking buddy, “But I can’t even get one fucking glimpse of Peter Parker when we’ve been in the same class since January!”

You stop in your tracks when you hear Spider-Man start to sputter and cough on his coffee, and you lift up a hand to pat him lightly on the back. “Sorry,” he chokes out, standing up straight as fast as possible. “So your guy’s named Peter Parker, huh? Sounds like an Average Joe.”

You fight the urge to roll your eyes, of course a hotshot like Spider-Man would find your crush completely frivolous. “Yes, but no. He’s a hero to me. He saved my grade when he fixed my BSOD, that’s how we met. And he just seemed really honest, and it was kind of him to reach out and help a non-sciencer. He’s probably super intelligent too, a double major. To be honest I’m a little intimidated, but I could listen to him talk about molecular formulas all day because he’d make it sound so interesting.” You look up up the night sky with a pout,  “And his eyes, since when are brown eyes so fucking pretty?”

Spider-Man remains strangely silent throughout your spiel. He’s always so animated, so you turn to him in mild concern. And then: “Karen, now is not the time!” He snaps.

“Who’s Karen?” You ask.

“She's the voice in my head that helps me get through things,” he winces, “That came out wrong.”

You give him a little half-smile. “Hi, Karen.”

A pause. “She says hello. But I mean, she kinda is the voice in my head that gets me through things, ya know? Mr. Stark put the programming in the suit, and I don’t know. She was just thinking of reassuring things to say for your problem, not that I don’t have my own mind or anything, it’s just, yeah. I’ll stop talking.” He reaches impulsively to run a hand over his head as if he isn’t masked, and you absentmindedly wonder what color his hair is. “I’m just having a hard time tryna figure out what to say.”

“What’s up, Spidey?” you nudge his shoulder in an attempt to lighten the mood. “Are you jealous that I’m thinking about a mere human in your presence?”

“No, no! Of course not! It’s just that,” You note the way he stares extra hard in front of him, before returning to his usual swagger. “Peter and I work together, actually. He’s doing an internship with Stark.”

“He has an internship with Tony Stark? God, how could you call him an Average Joe then!” It would definitely explain missing classes and his double major. You don’t even bother to downplay your awe, if this was a cartoon you’d have swooning heart eyes. “God, he just got even more attractive, he’s already set for life.”

Spider-Man chuckles, the sound reminiscent of tinkling wind chimes. It was nice. When he doesn’t answer you immediately, you mumble with a sad conclusion, “Maybe this is telling me I should get over this stupid crush. He’s way out of my league.”

“Wait, no! Nonono _no–_ ” Spider-Man bursts back to life, another shot of energy overtaking him as he jumps in front of you to put his hands on your shoulders. “Out of your league? Are you kidding? I’ve never heard anyone talk about Peter Parker that way,” he gushes, and you’re a little startled at his honesty. “Like, it’s really sweet. And you’re absolutely beautiful,” he squeezes your shoulders for emphasis. “He’s just going through a stressful time, with the workload Stark and school is givin’ him. He’d be  _so happy_  to go out with someone like you.”  

You mull it over, starting to feel uncomfortable in Spider-Man’s grip. You can’t deny that you’re getting a major confidence boost from Spidey, but you’re not entirely sure where this is coming from. But you test the waters and implore, “Do you think he’d be down to marathon  _Star Wars_  in our jammies and have cookie dough ice cream on the second date?” you ask.

Spider-Man looks like he’s about to faint. “That’s his favorite flavor.”

You shrug off his grasp, and pull out your keys. This was probably the fastest walk home ever, almost too fast for you. “If we see each other again,” you trail off wistfully, leaning against the doorway of your apartment complex. “I owe you one. You’re sellin’ Parker real good, Spidey. He must be a hell of an employee.”

He tilts his head. “Something like that.” And he bids you goodnight, throwing up a shooter and flinging into the city sky.

* * *

You’re twenty minutes early to astro, reviewing the next topic in the hopes that you’ll be able to break away from your strong middle ranking during iClicker and reach the ranks of Michelle and Ned.

The formulas you’re trying to jam into your head are starting to get all muddled with Spider-Man’s words over Peter. God, you pray that Spider-Man isn’t going off and telling him about you when they’re working together, that would be super embarrassing.

There’s a puff of air and someone breaks you out of your reverie, taking the seat right next to yours. You immediately bristle, feeling the heat of another human being against your left arm. There’s an unspoken rule between students in the lecture hall, to not screw up the seating arrangement you’ve established in the first week of January.

Of course in actuality there’s no assigned seating, but by now everyone’s settled in their usual chairs, unlike this guy who–holylkjflsjyshit it’s Peter Parker (!!!)

Peter Parker who looks absolutely exhausted, as if he’s risen back from the dead and came back just so he can get his degree. From your peripheral his hair is adorably mussed and frizzy from recently getting out of bed, and his collar is half tucked in his crewneck.

There’s a frog in your throat, you’re so mentally choked up that you don’t even know what to say to him. Maybe Spider-Man did say something, because here he was, after you complained that you haven’t seen Peter and you missed him. Your face feels like a roasted marshmallow, and you shove your notes closer to your face in an attempt to zone him out. So much for being smooth.

Two minutes before class begins, Peter calls your name.

“Hey, have ya got a pen I can borrow?”

You freeze, eyes flickering over to Peter for the first time since he’s sat down. Talk about déjà vu. He looks at you expectantly with a sheepish smile, carding a hand through his hair before it rests at the nape of his neck. 

“Yeah,” you reply with feigned nonchalance, bending down to fish in your bag, “Of course.”

But instead of handing him a pen, you offer him your blue highlighter.

He hesitates, and you know that Peter could’ve easily laughed you off and point out that  _it’s not a pen, dummy._

But he accepts the highlighter.

Ten seconds pass. “So, can I take you up on that coffee you promised?” He asks, fingers twiddling the aqua marker.

“Yeah,” you bite your lip and look down to suppress your initial epiphany, “you look like a caramel guy.”

“Yeah,” he huffs with a shy smile, “after class is fine?”

“It’s a date.”

“Cool, but uh. Can I still borrow a pen? I actually need one.”

**Author's Note:**

> for starksparker's 4k writing challenge, cross-posted @hansolmates on tumblr! and of course peter parker wouldn’t let his identity go that easily! suspension of disbelief for the sake of fluff, just like how we’re totally convinced that spiderman’s whole form is unrecognizable to peter parker! enjoy your weekend loves <3


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